


Aziraphale's New Look

by Mossyrock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, Queer up fluff, Straight up fluff, just fluff, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossyrock/pseuds/Mossyrock
Summary: Crowley likes Aziraphale's new look and just can't stop looking.Absolute fluff and nothing but fluff. It's as fluffy and sweet as cotton candy/fairy floss.





	Aziraphale's New Look

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the GO fandom. I, like everyone else, have fallen in love with these adorable idiots. I'm currently re-reading the book (along with the audio book), as well as re-watching the series, because I'm obsessed.

Crowley was in Hell.

Well, he wasn’t actually, literally in Hell. Trust him, if anyone would know it would be him. He’d been there thousands of times. No, he was on Earth.

London to be exact.

Aziraphale’s bookshop to be even more exact.

He was slouched casually on the couch hidden in the back room of the shop, while Aziraphale busied himself pouring them both a glass of fine, aged red wine.

Aziraphale had, since the not-quite-end-of-the-world (which had occurred exactly 1 month before), relaxed somewhat. They had tricked their respective sides into letting them be. For now. There was no telling if or when an angel or demon might come calling again, but for now at least, they’d bought themselves some time. Whether it be days, decades or millennia, only time would tell.

Crowley watched Aziraphale as he moved around the room. Unlike most times they were alone together, Crowley decided to keep his glasses on. He didn’t feel the need to hide his golden snake eyes from Aziraphale, but with his glasses on, he could stare at the angel to his heart’s content. His eyes hidden behind the black glass, he could watch him and drink him in, like they drank the fine wine.

And so, he did.

Aziraphale had recently (roughly two days, seven hours and 26 minutes ago, not that Crowley was counting) updated his wardrobe somewhat. As opposed to the demon, who was much more fashion conscious, Aziraphale tended to only update his style every few decades. While Aziraphale had loved the bowtie and three-piece suit, it had apparently been time for an update.

Which was why Crowley was now being treated to the sight of the angel in a perfectly tailored, and somewhat snug, white button up shirt (unfortunately buttoned all the way up), blue striped tie (because for some reason he always seemed to feel the need to have some kind of neck accessories) and grey trousers (pressed, because he needed to look respectable) with a matching brown belt and shoes completing the ensemble. Sometimes, on a cold day, he put on a darker grey cardigan (that looked entirely too soft) over the top.

All in all, it showed off no more skin than his previous outfits, and was, to the undiscerning eye, quite similar. But Crowley just knew that Aziraphale had agonized over every new piece and tried his hardest to blend in with the crowd of the modern era, while still maintaining his university lecturer chic. A look he’d taken to heart, as he’d also been wearing his entirely unnecessary reading glasses more often.

His hair was much the same, though slightly shorter on the sides and longer on the top, making his front few curls flop down slightly onto his forehead when he was reading.

It was adorable and Crowley was utterly obsessed.

He wasn’t sure where Aziraphale had acquired the look from. Had he been inspired by a customer, a shop window, or a random passerby? Crowley wasn’t sure. But he wanted to thank them by setting fire to the house of the person they most disliked. It was the least he could do.

Crowley liked to think he was a fairly simple demon. He liked to what he liked and had done so for millennia. One of the things he liked, along with driving his beloved car too fast and causing mischief, was Aziraphale’s eyes. And Aziraphale’s smile. And his nose. And his legs, shoulders, hands, and bottom. Not to mention his sense of humour, his love of all foods, his book obsession and his general _Aziraphaleness_.

Basically, as far as the demon was concerned, everything about the angel was infuriatingly delightful.

He was a demon. He wasn’t supposed to find anything delightful or adorable. But when it came to a certain blond haired, sweet natured principality, he became all mushy and sentimental.

He’d liked Aziraphale from their first meeting, on the walls of Eden. He knew he shouldn’t. Aziraphale’s job had been to thwart him. He, the wily serpent, had snuck past him, the righteous guarding angel, to tempt Eve with the fruit of the humanity’s destruction.

By rights, Aziraphale should have smite him down. Or at least given him a good talking to. But he didn’t. Instead, they’d talked, like equals. And Crowley had been intrigued by this angel, who in trying to do good, had only succeeded in managing to cock things up spectacularly.

It was fascinating and endearing.

He’d given the humans his flaming sword, for Satan’s sake! A mystical blade, imbued with God's power, gifted to him in his quest to help, guide and guard the new and defenceless humans. What kind of angel would do such a thing?

Aziraphale would and had. And it had immediately drawn Crowley in.

When they kept running into each other, sometimes years or centuries apart, Crowley had only become more and more puzzled by this angel who did his best at what he thought was best, but in doing so sometimes completely disregarded Heaven’s orders. He was a contradiction to the very idea of an angel. But he definitely wasn’t a demon either.

By the time they came to the Arrangement, Crowley had actively begun seeking Aziraphale out. He wanted to get to know him, to try to figure him out. And he found him attractive, of course. He’d only had to look at him once, with his big, pure angel eyes and he’d been a goner.

They’d each had their respective human forms from the very beginning. While Aziraphale had temporarily lost his during the almost-apocalypse, they had been otherwise unchanged since the beginning of time. Crowley was rather fond of the chosen form the angel took. It suited him well, with its softness and the smile that caused Crowley’s insides to do strange things.

But no matter what form Aziraphale took, Crowley still would’ve sauntered vaguely downwards for him eventually. It seemed inevitable really. Because Crowley had to admire an angel who would actively lie to Heaven for the greater good. The fact he’d taken him up on the offer of a truce was surprising, in that it wasn’t surprising. No other angel would’ve talked to Crowley, let alone been tempted by the offer of a mutually beneficial miracle swap. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel.

And since the Arrangement, they had become friends. They had lunches and clandestine meetings where they plotted saving the world. They’d spent time together raising Warlock. Crowley had never felt closer to any being in his existence and he couldn’t imagine his life without Aziraphale. They had been through so much together. And despite Aziraphale’s insistence that they weren’t friends, after Crowley’s desperate plea for him to run away with him, he knew that they were.

He’d seen the way Aziraphale was with him. He’d seen the affection in his eyes. And even if it was just friendship and a helping hand keeping the world alive, Crowley would gladly take it. He would take any scrap of light the angel was willing to bestow on him. He basked in it, like the cold-blooded serpent he was.

Of course, he’d already admired the angel for millennia and had fallen for him, sometime around their time in Italy or perhaps Israel. Or maybe it was Russia or Egypt. It was hard to tell.

Crowley was a glutton for punishment. Falling for the enemy and a being he would never have was the ultimate exercise in self-sabotage. Crowley had really outdone himself. If he’d designed such torture for a human, Hell would have made him Demon of the Decade.

Instead, he was torturing himself as he watched Aziraphale pottering around his bookshop. The cardigan was off, and his sleeves pushed as far up his forearms as they would go, without him uncuffing his cuffs.

“Crowley, dear, are you alright?” Aziraphale interrupted his pouting broodiness.

“I’m fine, angel,” He waved him off.

“You’re being particularly quiet tonight,” He said, finally sitting in the armchair. Crowley sighed. Why wouldn’t he come sit on the couch with him? There was plenty of room. And even if there hadn’t been, that would just mean they’d have to get close. Crowley wouldn’t have minded that one bit.

“It’s just been a long century.”

“Don’t feel obligated to stay, if you want to leave. While I enjoy your company, you may go and get some sleep. I know you are rather partial to it,” Aziraphale said. He looked so concerned for him that Crowley wanted to hug him and hold him close for as long as possible. Forever, if he could manage it. That wasn’t an unusual feeling he got around the other being, though it was manifesting slightly less sinfully than usual. He must be feeling sentimental that evening.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” He gave Aziraphale a grin. He was aware that he could be sarcastic and snarky, but he trusted that Aziraphale knew him well enough to know he was being sincere.

Like Aziraphale, since the almost-end-of-the-world he’d also stopped being quite so cautious. One of the things he’d started doing, was being honest. A rare trait, for a demon. But Crowley was tired of dancing around how he felt about his beautiful angel.

Though how Aziraphale could still be ignorant of the fact he was head over heels in love with him was beyond even his incredible comprehension. He’d ask God, if he still had Her personal line. For Heaven’s sake, he’d asked him to run away with him. He’d begged. Demons didn’t beg. Crowley, in particular, didn’t beg. He was too suave and cool for that.

What more did he have to do to convince Aziraphale that he was in love with him?

He supposed he could just tell him, but he scoffed at that. Unless the world did indeed end or Hell froze over, there was no way he’d let himself be that vulnerable.

“I’m also glad you’re here.” Aziraphale gave him a radiant smile, so joyful that Crowley was thankful he had his glasses on.

He nearly launched himself at him. It was pathetic. Over six millennia of desiring him, and suddenly Crowley couldn’t resist. Their near extinction had put a lot of things in perspective for him and made him an emotional wreck.

“Aziraphale,” He began.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale looked up from his glass, over the top of his glasses. His lips were stained from the deep red of the wine. Crowley wanted to know how it tasted on his lips.

“What are your plans now?”

“Now? Well, since you’re here, I thought we could drink and talk some more. When you leave, I have some new books I’ve been meaning to read...” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the books Adam had left for him, after restoring the bookshop.

“No, I meant, your plans more generally. Now that the,” He nodded his head upwards, “head office isn’t bothering you.”

“Oh... Well. I hadn’t really thought about it.” A small smile appeared on the angelic face, as if all the possibilities had suddenly opened up to him.

“Oh.” Crowley wasn’t going to let himself be disappointed that Aziraphale hadn’t already considered what they could do now. Specifically together.

“I suppose I’d like to travel. I haven’t been to Italy in over a century. France almost as long... And Australia of course! I've never been and some of Her weirdest creations are down there."

“Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself,” Crowley grumbled.

“You aren’t coming with me?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. Like the idea that Crowley wouldn’t go with him had never even crossed his mind.

“I could, I suppose. If you wouldn’t mind terribly.” Crowley tried to pretend that he wasn’t overly eager at the idea. He suspected he was failing.

“Oh, splendid. It really wouldn’t be the same without you.” Aziraphale beamed at him again. Crowley couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Anywhere you want to go, angel.” He gave his most devious and charming smirk. It was the one he’d known to be most effective on convincing humans to do things they knew they shouldn’t do, but which they wanted to do anyway. It was the nudge in the right, or rather, wrong direction.

Aziraphale blushed. It was all the encouragement the demon needed.

“Have I mentioned how much I like your new look?” He mentioned, casually. The sort of casual as if something had just come to mind and not plagued one’s every thought for several days.

“Oh. No, you hadn’t. You like it? I was rather worried it was too stuffy and boring, but Anathema and Newton said it rather suited me.” He was fiddling with his tie, rather adorably flustered.

“I think it suits you perfectly.”

“Well, thank you, Crowley. I’m not as ‘hip’ as you, but I do hope I will fit in. Of course, I’ll have to plan new outfits, if we’re travelling. Australia is quite warm. I might have to pack some shorts...”

Crowley choked on his wine.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale had scooched forward in the armchair, hand outstretched as if to somehow help the demon. Crowley had leaned forwards, to expel the liquid.

“’M fine. Absolutely fine,” He wheezed. When he looked up, he saw that they were sat quite close to each other. Their knees nearly touched.

"Good. I’d hate to have you discorporate over a glass of wine, after everything we've been through.” Aziraphale giggled and miracled away the red stains that Crowley had unfortunately spilt over himself and the couch.

Crowley cleared the wine from his lungs and tried unsuccessfully from imagining the other being in shorts and a t-shirt. Or worse, a bathing suit. He imagined Aziraphale stretched out on a beautiful golden sand beach, the gold of which would perfectly match his curls.

Crowley didn’t blush, but if he did, he suspected that he’d be flaming. Like a sword. Or a bookshop. Or his beloved Bentley.

“It wouldn’t be nearly as fun, traveling the world without you,” Aziraphale continued, as though Crowley hadn’t just choked, “And with your glasses, I’m sure you’ll blend right in, in the warmer climates. Speaking of, why do you keep your glasses on now?”

His eyes darted around behind the glasses, trying to search for an excuse, but coming up empty handed.

“No reason. Just felt like keeping them on.” He shrugged.

“You know you don’t have to hide your eyes from me, my dear. You know, I rather like them.” The tone of his voice was that of a confession. Crowley should know. He’d made countless humans confess countless sins over the millennia.

Aziraphale was still leaning forwards. Crowley could see the blush as it spread across Aziraphales cheeks.

“Y... You do?” Crowley was shocked.

“Of course. They suit you.”

“Because I’m a demon.” It wasn’t a question. For all intents and purposes, he could blend in with the crowd. Except for his eyes. The one damning feature that meant no one would ever forget that he was _evil_. The one thing that meant that Aziraphale could never love him back.

“No! Well, yes. But they are beautiful, Crowley. Gorgeous. No one else has eyes like them.”

Crowley had been described in many ways throughout the millennia. He’d been called sneaky, wily, _evil_. He’d been called tall, thin, dark, menacing, brooding. Enthralling, enchanting, hypnotising, tempting. But beautiful and gorgeous? Never.

“Angel, they’re demonic. The snake of Eden, who caused all of human suffering. Remember?” He tore off his glasses, throwing them onto the couch beside him, to stare at the angel.

“Yes. But we all make mistakes.” Aziraphale smiled at him, so saintly and pure.

“Angel, do you realise what you do to me?” He asked, desperately. He knew neither of them were drunk. They were hardly tipsy. Certainly, not enough to explain away this conversation, come the light of day.

“I’m sorry,” He apologised. He seemed to have no idea what he was apologising for, but he seemed entirely sincere. The love inside Crowley's chest expanded, so much it hurt.

“Aziraphale, please, if I’m wrong, I’m sorry. But please tell me...” His hand reached out and found a home on Aziraphale’s knee. The angel didn’t move. He wasn’t even breathing. Crowley sat, unmoving too. He didn’t dare push for more, but he hadn’t been told no either.

Aziraphale made a strange high pitched whining noise that had Crowley pulling his hand back as if he’d been burned.

“I’m so sorry, angel.” He stood to leave. His knees bumped Aziraphale’s as he shuffled past.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s voice followed him. He couldn’t look back. He just needed to get away. Maybe he could run away to Alpha Centauri after all.

“Crowley, for Hell’s sake, would you just stop for one moment?”

He stopped. His unnecessary heart beat in his chest, pounding too loud and fast to be healthy. For a human, at least. He cursed his corporeal form for its betrayal.

“Crowley, look at me.” It was a demand.

He turned slowly. Aziraphale stood, holding his glasses out towards him. A peace offering or just a kind gesture, so he wouldn’t leave them behind?

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighed, “Please never think that you need to hide from me. Anything. How you feel or who you are.”

Crowley felt chastised. He slunk forwards and plucked the glasses from the angel’s hand, careful not to touch him. He immediately put them on, trying to hide the hurt he knew his eyes would expose.

“I am sorry,” He began. He looked down, unable to look at the disappointment or disgust he knew Aziraphale must be feeling.

Demons didn’t apologise. Under any circumstances. But Crowley wasn’t a typical demon, as Aziraphale wasn’t a typical angel.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale whispered. When Crowley looked back up, Aziraphale was only a hair’s breadth away from him.

“What?” He spluttered.

“You think I don’t feel the same? Oh, you silly snake. I’ve loved you for decades.” His hand came up and lovingly stroked the snake tattoo on Crowley’s face.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I saved the world for you,” He smiled a tiny smile, but to Crowley it might as well have been a flashing neon sign that read “HE LOVES YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON”.

“I love you too,” He managed to get out, before his lips were miraculously kissing the angel.

If asked to describe what kissing Aziraphale felt like, Crowley would have said ‘Heavenly’ and ‘Divine’ and a thousand blasphemous things. Of course, the angel would look at him disapprovingly, but it was true. Crowley knew what Heaven felt like. But kissing his angel after six long millennia of pining was better. Much, much better.

Their glasses clunked together as Crowley slithered forwards, trying to fit himself into Aziraphale’s space as far as he could go. It made Aziraphale giggle, until Crowley miracled them away. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of them again. Not Heaven, or Hell or bits of plastic, metal and glass.

* * *

They did travel around the world. They travelled from country to country, seeing the sights, cataloguing the changes and discovering new things, together. The sight of Aziraphale stretched out on a beach was better than Crowley’s imagination could ever have conjured. Not the least because now, he was lying beside him. And he was allowed to touch and kiss. And do other, less wholesome things.

They had saved the world. And each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be finishing my 50k+ word GOT WIP, but David and Michael have made me as soft as Aziraphale and I can't escape. Send help.  
> Not beta read and written in two crazy sessions, so if you see anything amiss, give me a heads up. Please and thank you.  
> Also, I have a few other ideas, so if anyone is keen, let me know?


End file.
